


The Little Things

by NB_Cecil



Series: No Privacy on a Space Station [7]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Bashir’s declining mental health, Cardassian Fashion, Caretaking, Caring!Garak, Domestic Fluff, Dominion War, Don’t tell me they’re not gay for each other, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fashion & Couture, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Garak does actual tailoring, Garak doesn’t do any surveillance in this one!, Garak is a Romantic at Heart, Garak is a good friend, Garak’s Shop, Gen, Gift Giving, Hurt/Comfort, Jadzia is totally going to tell everyone about this and you know it, Kukalaka brings out the best in everyone, M/M, Missing Scene, Missing Scenes, No Privacy on the Defiant Either, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Rom and Leeta’s Wedding, Romantic!Garak, S5E26 A Call to Arms, S6E1 A Time To Stand, S6E1 when Bashir’s collar is undone and Garak teases him about being genetically enhanced... unnngh, Tailor!Garak, The Defiaint’s Cramped Quarters, War and its consequences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-29 03:51:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18770608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NB_Cecil/pseuds/NB_Cecil
Summary: Set during the episodesCall to Arms(S5E26) andA Time to Stand(S6E1), and a followup to my ficWalk out of the Jaws of Hell, Garak has an idea while sewing up a hole in Bashir’s toy bear Kukalaka.





	The Little Things

“All done,” Garak declared, setting his stitching tool aside. He held the toy out at arm’s length, admiring his handiwork and pinching its face to knead the stuffing back into the threadbare snout.

“Thanks,” Bashir mumbled distractedly, examining an outfit on the tailor’s dummy. “This is beautiful, Garak.” He stroked the fabric reverently.

“It’s Leeta’s wedding dress,” Garak explained, “I need to make a couple of minor alterations before the big day tomorrow.”

“Really? She’s going to love it!” Bashir enthused.

“I do hope so,” Garak said, opening the drawer in his desk and rummaging for his sizing scanner.

His Human companion, still engrossed in the outfit, chattered away about the colour (“ _it compliments her eyes_ ”), the cut (“ _very flattering_ ”) and other aspects of the garment. Garak switched on the scanner and ran it over Bashir’s beloved bear Kukalaka. 

“Rom’s going to hate it,” Bashir commented, fingering the skirt.

“Hmm?”

“The hemline’s far too long for Ferengi tastes,” Bashir clarified.

“The hemline is _just right_ ,” The tailor replied testily.

Bashir bounded over to the worktable. “Well, as long as Leeta’s happy,” He shrugged, reaching for Kukalaka. Garak handed the bear over. “Oh wow, I can’t even see the stitching.” He gave his friend a wide grin before turning to leave the shop. “Thanks. I must dash, I have to meet Miles.”

“Any time, dear.” Garak called after the doctor’s retreating back.

 

Alone in his shop, the Cardassian hummed tunelessly to himself as he transferred Kukalaka’s measurements to a padd. He reached under the table for the bin he kept for sweeping off-cuts into and upended it over the tabletop. Sorting through the pile he picked out a sizeable piece of dark green velour, and a few smaller scraps of purple satin and black gabardine, folded them carefully, and swept the remaining heap back into the bin. After replicating himself a mug of Tarkalean tea, he set to work sketching a design on his padd.

Some four hours of drawing, measuring, cutting and sewing later, Garak laid the finished tiny outfit out on the table and—groaning—stretched, arching his back over the back of the chair and reaching his hands above his head to ease the stiffness of sitting too long in one position. He allowed himself a small, tight-lipped, self-congratulatory smile at a job well done before turning his attention to the wedding dress.

 

Garak had planned to surprise Bashir by sneaking the new outfit onto his friend’s bear the next time the doctor invited him over to his quarters, but the events of the Dominion War and the evacuation of _Deep Space Nine_ put paid to that idea. Fortunately, he had stuffed the little suit into an empty compartment in his sewing kit for safekeeping—which, of course, was the first thing he threw into a duffel bag when the order to evacuate broadcast throughout the station—so when, after a day of particularly heavy casualties, Garak rang the chime at the door to the cramped quarters the doctor shared with the _Defiant_ ’s chief science officer, he had a gift on hand with which to take his friend’s mind off their dire situation.

Despite his tiredness, Bashir grinned like a kid at a birthday party as he unwrapped the little parcel, lifting up a tiny green shirt, the neckline cut in the traditional Cardassian square with an extra ‘V’ at the centre. He held it out for Kukalaka, reclining on the lower bunkbed’s thin pillow, to admire. 

“Look,” He urged the stuffed toy, “Your Uncle Elim made this for you.”

Garak winced at the ‘Uncle’, and Kukalaka stared back at them with unblinking plastic eyes. Dax, seated at the computer console in the corner of the room, nursing a bowl of soup, chuckled.

Bashir set the shirt aside and “Oooh”-ed as he examined a little black dinner jacket, its violet lapels shimmering in the harsh overhead lighting.

“Garak, this is—“ He turned to his companion, “How long did this take?”

“Oh, an hour or so.” The tailor waved his hand dismissively.

Bashir gave him an incredulous look. “More than that, surely?”

“Maybe a little longer,” Garak conceded, a modest grin playing on his lips.

“And pants too!” Dax, having finished her soup, came over to examine the gift. She picked up a miniature pair of trousers cut from the same gabardine as the jacket. “Garak, this _definitely_ took longer than an hour.” She gazed admiringly at the row of tiny buttonholes on the fastening.

“You must try them on!” Bashir addressed his bear again, lifting it up from the pillow. He pulled the shirt over the toy’s head, manipulating the arms into the sleeves. He turned to his companions, grinning, “It fits perfectly!” He exclaimed. 

“Of course is does, dear.” Garak smiled indulgently at the Human’s enthusiasm. “I would be embarrassed if it didn’t.”

“I didn’t know you had a soft side,” Dax muttered to Garak as they watched their friend dress his stuffed toy.

“Oh, don’t be fooled by my ruthless exterior, Lieutenant, I’m really quite the romantic at heart,” Garak smirked back at the Trill.

“Hmph,” Dax snorted derisively. “A romantic until it’s time to eliminate your target,” She needled.

“What are you two bickering about?” Bashir asked, holding the clothed bear up for his friends to admire.

“Hmm? Nothing.” Garak smiled benignly.

“Kukalaka, don’t you look sharp?” Dax grinned approvingly.

“He really does,” Bashir agreed, hugging the bear to his chest and flattening its face in the process. “Thank you Garak, that really was very thoughtful of you,” He said, stifling a yawn.

“Any time, dear.” Garak replied, “Any time.”


End file.
